


America

by Fooeyburr



Series: Debt [6]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Death, Implied Non-Con, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, PTSD, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 11:23:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15907290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fooeyburr/pseuds/Fooeyburr
Summary: Stan learns the truth.





	America

**Author's Note:**

> At last, here’s Foo’s final installment to the Debt AU as seen from Stan’s point of view! That’s right - I hereby confirm that there will be more Debt after this, but from Ford’s POV. I plan to keep Ford’s side to this story entirely PG (heads-up to those who would like to check out this AU without the gnarly parts), but more of that when we eventually get there. :D
> 
> This installment was originally supposed to be two separate fics, but I realized mid-drafting that the second one was a direct thematic response to the first, so I merged them into one fic instead.

* * *

 

 

 

There was something about Don Federico that made Stan's jaw clench with a fight-or-flight reflex. This was not a man he could talk his usual shady business with.

He averted his gaze as his capturer's eyes stopped at him.

"So we got ourselves a _gringo_ this time, huh?" Rico mused. His lips turned into a lazy grin as he stepped forward with a long drag of his cigar.

"God bless America."

Stan gulped. He had to take a hike, and fast.

"Hey", he whispered through the corner of his mouth. The nearest of the other captives turned his eyes at him. "Franco, right? You're welcome, buddy."

"So it was you?" Franco whispered back. Stan had taken a swing at the goon that was supposed to teach the young man a lesson after he'd tried to take off. Not that he'd intended to; he'd thrown punches haphazardly at anyone he didn't recognize as an ally. At this point, not much was left of the boxing discipline in Stan's fighting routine. "Guess I owe you a solid."

"Ya bet", Stan replied quietly. "Listen, I'm gonna get us both outta here, but I need your help planning it out. You can start by telling me what the big guy is talking about, my Spanish has more holes in it than Swiss cheese in a mouse trap."

“Fine by me”, muttered his companion.

“So what’s he saying?”

“He’s discussing the price with the kidnappers.”

Stan raised his eyebrow. “Price for what?”

The man scowled gloomily at his ignorance. “Us, of course.”

“ _Us?_ The… the hell is this guy, a human trafficker or something? Jesus.” Stan shuddered a bit. He’d expected the usual mule jobs as payback for his debt. Smuggling was one thing, but when the goods were humans… He didn’t do too well with scare tactics and muscle jobs. All the more reason to make a run for it at the first chance he got.

The inkling of terror in his stomach gained an extra twist as he caught Rico’s eyes lingering on him for a moment that was a little too long for his comfort. The smile that stretched the other man’s lips slit apart by the cigar made his neck hairs stand up.

“He’s talking about me, isn’t he?” he mouthed to Franco as soon as Rico had turned back to his associates. “What’s he planning?”

“He…” Franco shut his mouth quickly when another glance was thrown at Stan’s direction. “He says you’ve got a good face.”

“Really?” Stan whispered a bit incredulously; if anything, he’d thought his current looks, made to match an innocent grin and a cheap peddler’s suit, would be considered a problem for the grimmer jobs. “Good as in tough? Intimidating?”

Franco hushed him while listening to Rico’s dragged speech. There was a strange twitch in his expression; for a moment, he looked disgusted.

“What?” Stan urged him. “What’d he say?”

“No. No way I’m gonna repeat that.” His partner in crime glanced at him reluctantly. “Hey, thanks for your help, but you’re on your own now. Looks like we’re going separate ways.”

Stan stared at him, enraged. “You’re already bailing me? Look, man, I really need –“

“If you can afford a personal translator”, a soft voice interrupted him, “you might as well pay back the money you owe me.”

Stan froze; Rico had turned his full attention to him, and was now approaching him with unhurried steps. His shoulders tensed up.

“What’s your name, American?” Rico asked and reached to tuck the cigar from his mouth.

Like Franco had said, the other captives were already being taken out of the room, leaving Stan alone with Rico and his crew. He gulped.

“Pinsley… Stannington”, he sputtered, cringing inwardly at yet another phenomenally bad pseudonym he’d pulled straight out of his ass. He should really start thinking up fake names in advance in case one should come in handy.

His sad attempt of a lie didn’t miss Rico, who burst into laughter. His henchmen followed with a two-second delay like a paid audience, and for a moment the room was filled with a more or less mechanical guffaw.

“A man of entertainment”, said Rico, looking pleased. “Looks like I’m getting my money’s worth this time.” Stan was vaguely aware of the cigar’s glowing end having settled to the level of Rico’s hips, not that far away from his face. His kneeling position felt more and more uncomfortable by the minute. “You don’t speak _espa_ _ñol_ , no?”

“ _Un_ … _Un poco_ ”, muttered Stan hesitantly. Maybe he should’ve played it safe and say he didn’t understand a word. He couldn’t really tell what the safe option would’ve been here.

Averting his eyes sure wasn’t, as he quickly learned when Rico snapped his fingers sharply in front of his nose. “ _Ojos aquí_ , perro. You look at me when I’m talking to you. _Comprendes?_ ” He snapped his fingers repeatedly, clearly in simple, sadistic fun this time. Stan grimaced, trying to keep his eyes from flickering shut by instinct.

“Yeah, yeah _, compredo_ ”, he snarled.

“That’s more like it.” Rico held a pause to take another drag of his cigar. “ _Un poco_ …” he repeated Stan’s earlier words with a smile. “That’s not a phrase you’ll be using at the house. We can’t have you work on this side of the border without a proper vocabulary, now can we?”

Stan blinked. House? He must’ve misheard that. There was no way an indebted street rat like him would be offered an indoor job – those were considered a straight up luxury in these circles. “Well, I’m a fast learner”, he said a little dubiously.

“We’ll see about that.” Again, Stan had to fight his instinct to turn away when his chin was held up by a very unfamiliar set of fingers.

“ _Dime_ ”, asked Rico with a grin that had more than a shade of cruelty in it, “ _cu_ _ál es el coste de verte atores con mio gusto?_ ”

“Whoa”, said Stan, trying to grasp on every word he’d heard before they slipped from his memory, “slow down, _amigo_. How much would what cost now? _De ve-,_ uh… _verla_ …”

His attempt died along with another gulp of discomfort as Rico took a tighter grip on his chin. “Hah. Fast learner, he said.” The other man repeated his earlier words in a slow, honeyed tone, and this time his thumb climbed up to invade the gap between Stan’s lips. It slid back to holding his chin before he had time to react, and it left him paled and with less than a vague understanding of what the phrase was referring to.

“You… You’re that kinda sicko, huh?” he mumbled. This had to be a joke. What the hell kind of a job required phrases like that? Who was he supposed to intimidate, hookers?

“You say it like it’s a bad thing, _gringo_ ”, Rico answered lazily, forcing him to look up again. “Neat-freak Americans… How do you think I’ve built my empire, hm? By being nice and polite? Hah! I’ve gotten this far because I take what I want. Maybe what I want is not okay with everyone, but they know better than to have a problem with me. Deviance can be power, you know… if you use it right.”

“I hear ya.” Stan gulped one more time. He’d listened to Rico’s damn monologue, so now he’d earned some room for negotiation, right? Right. “So, uh… I’m gonna need you to write that down if you want me to use it on a regular basis. Yeah, maybe a list or something. I’m more of a visual learner, anyway.”

“You?” Rico laughed again. “That phrase is not for you. I was pretending to be a customer. Of course, if it was me, I wouldn’t have to pay a dime.” His hand slid along Stan’s jawline, and his fingers pressed down on the sides of his neck, causing the man to choke up. “I’m your owner now, _puto_.”

With a cold laugh, he finally let him go. “But wait, you wanted phrases for yourself, yes? How about this…”

His goons roared with laughter as he made a show of purring in a sultry, feminine falsetto and making ridiculing gestures at his captive’s disheveled mullet. Stan was deaf to the noise around him; his ears were ringing with humiliation that just barely held his rising anger in the leash.

“Okay, pal”, he growled. The laughter died instantly, but that wasn’t enough to scare him. “Yeah, I get it, I’m your bitch now. Ha ha. Now, if you’re done stroking your big macho man ego, maybe we could finally – AGH!“

_SMACK._

The strike of Rico’s ringed backhand was so sudden and merciless that Stan’s vision was spotted with nauseating black for a moment.

“Pal? I’m not your pal”, Rico murmured over his groan of pain. “Like I already said, I’m your owner, _whore_.”

Stan froze. “Wh… Okay, that’s too much”, he stammered, even forgetting the stinging pain across his cheek as he tried to make sense of the situation. “It’s not even funny anymore. Look, nobody’s laughing.”

“That’s because it wasn’t a joke”, Rico replied bluntly. “These men know to only laugh at my jokes. They’re paid to know the difference… unlike you. You don’t seem very smart, so I guess I’ll just have to ram it into you until you learn your lesson.”

“My head”, Stan muttered.

“Hm?”

“You ram the rules into someone’s _head_. Take it from a dumb American, at least I know my own language.”

“I wasn’t talking about rules”, retorted Rico with a smile. “And it’s you who’s going to take it from me, not the other way around. See, I find better use for your tongue than you do.”

“Jesus…” Stan hadn’t heard this many nasty innuendos in a row since his days in the school yard. He did his best to fight down the shudder of disgust and made his last desperate attempt to turn the situation to less obnoxious tracks. “Yeah, you win, you’re the bilingual one here. Message received loud and clear. I do need a lesson or two, in Spanish, I mean. Heh. I’ll get straight down to that as soon as we’re done here.”

“Hm… No. It seems to me you’re not receiving the message.” The man lifted his cigar above Stan’s head and gave it a little pat with his thumb, effectively scattering the ashes on his hair. “And if there’s one thing you need to learn for your new job, it’s how to receive like the little slut that you are.”

Forget disgust; by now, Stan was shaking with fury. “All right, that’s it! You know what time it is? It’s time to cut it!” he snapped. “Time to cut the sick puns and the goddamn _bullshit!_ Come on, buddy, let’s work this out like men! Man to man, right?” he tried desperately as he saw Rico’s eyes darken. He shouldn’t have yelled.

“Come – come on, I disrespected you, right?” he went on, but at least lowered his tone. “You don’t like disrespect, do ya? Then let’s deal this out respectfully! If you don’t wanna talk business, fine by me! Let’s fight business instead! Fair and square, one on one! Okay?”

Maybe he shouldn’t have spoken at all.

But when he was lying face down on the floor with his head trapped under the weight of Rico’s shoe, it was too late to quiet down.

“Gahh! Son of a…”

He could hear Rico chuckle above him. “Man to man?” Stan gritted his teeth at the added weight trampling his skull. “Maybe you pass for a man in America. It’s the land of the free, after all, so you’re free to call yourself whatever you want. But here, you have to prove yourself a man. And all I see is a little worm who can’t even pay off his debt.”

“Fine”, Stan spat out. “Got it. Now let me –“

But Rico wasn’t done just yet. “And as for me… I am more than a man. I’m an emperor. For a worm like you, being my whore is the highest honor you can get. But you’re going to learn your place soon…” He laughed. “You’ll be crawling on the floor and licking my feet by the time I’m done with you.”

Stan had heard enough.

As soon as he could feel the weight on his head being lifted off, he made his move. Frankly, it wasn’t much of a move; his hands were tied, but the ropes around his ankles were loose enough for him to stumble on his feet. He barged at the nearest henchman – another one made a swift motion towards him as he knocked the man over, but stopped still at Rico’s warning gesture.

Stan should’ve stopped, too.

“Eager to get started, hm? Looks like it’s time for your first lesson.”

In the next ten seconds, too many things happened at once for Stan to keep up with it all. The situation it resulted in, however, trapped his attention in all too tangible ways.

“You’re mine”, Rico growled into his ear as he wrestled him down against the filthy floor, putting extra emphasis on straddling his captive and making sure he knew exactly how hard he already was. Stan cringed and trashed, but it was no use.

 _This can_ _’t be happening._

“Tie him up. Make sure he can’t move an inch.”

 _This isn_ _’t happening. Not to him._

“Congratulations… You’re finally getting off the streets, little rat.”

No.

His head was yanked forward, and every muscle in his face strained at the sound of a zipper being undone.

 _No, no, nononono, NO, NO_ \--

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

”…and, heh, I remember thinking, ’wish there was someone to paint a picture of my face.’ Would’ve been worth enough money to pay off my debt there and then. Misery sells these days.”

“Money on your mind, as always. Are you talking about an out-of-body experience?”

“What?”

“Well, I gathered you were watching your own face from another point of view. Don’t worry, it’s not as crazy as it sounds. It’s very common dissociative behavior.”

“Oh… Right.” Stan shook his head with a bitter smile and averted his gaze. “I wish. Guess having my brain spaz out whenever shit hit the fan would’ve been a better option than having to live in the same body that went through all that for the rest of my life. It used to do that, you know. Spaz out. Up to a certain point.”

“But you do remember what happened when you were captured.”

“Nah.”

“You don’t?”

“Well, I mean…” The man scratched his head. “I probably could, if I wanted to. But I don’t want to. No ma’am. See, I do have plenty of memories, but my mind just skips right to the part where things were tolerable, or, you know, even kinda good.”

Dr. Harker nodded. “Understandable.”

“Is it a problem? For my, uh, recovery?”

“Depends.” Harker looked thoughtful. “Does it feel like a problem to you?”

Stan lifted his elbows onto the back rest of his chair. “No, I feel fine.”

“How are you in general?”

“Good. I’m good.”

“The flashbacks haven’t recurred?”

“Nope”, said Stan carefreely. “Not since two months ago.”

“And no physical compulsions?”

“Not really. Nothing that isn’t normal for anyone with a pair.”

“No regression?”

“No.”

“Sounds like you’re doing fine.”

“Yep.” A somewhat awkward silence followed; Stan felt like Harker was waiting for him to elaborate. “Well, what with the…”

“The nightmares.”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s go back to those for a moment, since they seem to be the only thing we can work on. Now, don’t you worry”, she then assured as Stan looked uncomfortable, “I’m not going to ask you to give me a detailed description. But if you can find a way to tell me what kind of nightmares you’re having, please, tell me. This is only to figure out how we can stop said nightmares, not to dissect your entire psyche.”

Stan bit the inside of his cheek. “This is gonna sound a whole different kind of fucked up than anything we’ve talked so far.”

“I don’t mind. As long as it’s something you can put into words.”

“Right…” Another long silence followed as Stan fidgeted in his chair, struggling to force out the words he seemed equally disgusted and desperate to say out loud. “Well, when I was brushing my teeth this morning… I sorta… I had this used tube of toothpaste in my hand, and I thought, ‘wow, this thing’s just like me’. Yeah, that makes no sense.”

“Don’t you worry about making sense in my office.” The doctor’s expression remained neutral, but Stan could tell she didn’t understand. “Just go on.”

“I, uh… Yeah. It’s like… everything just…” The man huffed, feeling a bit nauseous. “It’s like someone’s squeezed out everything that’s… inside me… and all that’s left is this empty shell that’s good for little more than nothing. Like I’ve fulfilled my purpose, you know? And I can’t really do anything with this thing anymore.”

“And what is ‘this thing’?”

“You know… This.” He gestured at himself. “Me.”

“Your body?”

Stan shook his head. “No, not just the body. I mean… me. What I say, or what I do… Everything just seems kinda pointless now. Like there’s no… You know, everything I do, someone else could do just as good, or even better. Like I’m all used up, and no matter how much other people try to squeeze anything good out of me, it just… I’m just empty, Doc.”

Harker nodded. “I understand. And your nightmares…?”

“Yeah, that’s where the actual squeezing happens”, Stan muttered. “As a figure of speech, of course. Well, maybe it gets kinda literal sometimes. Y’know. And every time I sleep, I feel like I gotta wake up, so I won’t be all used up again in the morning. But it just keeps happening.”

“I see. Well, it does make sense to me after a little elaboration. You’ve gotten quite good at explaining these things, as strange as they are”, Dr. Harker mused. “Let’s put it this way: your skin is your shield, Stan. The tube, as you put it. Everything that’s happened to you – the toothpaste – is still inside you, and now you’re living a new life that doesn’t react well, if at all, to your experiences. Yet the rest of the world demands you to come out of your shell and adapt. Now, your trauma still defines you, and you don’t know how else to respond. And you’re feeling useless, because the shield that conceals your past life is the only thing you have to offer. Isn’t that right?”

“…yeah, I guess.”

“Tell me, do you ever feel like what you called squeezing is also happening outside your nightmares?”

Stan flashed a slant, uncomfortable smile, but kept his eyes averted from the doctor. “Sometimes Ford gives me this look. And, well, since you asked… This whole therapy thing has started to feel like that from time to time.”

“I’ve sensed that during our recent sessions.” Harker didn’t say anything else for a while, leaving it for Stan to break the awkward silence in the room.

“I really do wanna just get this over with, you know. I don’t wanna… what was it that Ford said…? Yeah, shut myself in my own head. And it’s not like I haven’t talked, right? It’s just that… See, back when Sixer and I were kids, we used to hear all these stories from the war. Brats like us, we were all about that, but I’m pretty sure every single one of us thought to ourselves, ‘boy, I sure hope another war never comes my way, so that nothing that horrible ever happens to me’.”

“Nothing wrong with a little morbid curiosity”, said Harker, “but I guess that’s beside the point.”

Her patient let out a dry laugh. “Well, guess I have my own war stories now, except without the whole being a hero part. And let’s face this, nobody wants to hear a story like that. Ford sure doesn’t, and you’re just paid services, so… I dunno. Sometimes I just wanna shrug the whole thing off and leave it at that. I think I could do that, but coming back here every week just keeps the ball rolling, and… I’m not sure if it’s actually going anywhere at this point.”

Harker gave him a long look. “Are you saying you want to quit your therapy?”

“I… Yeah”, Stan nodded slowly after a moment of hesitation, “I guess I am.”

“Mhm. Are you unhappy with the progress we’ve made in this room?”

“No, no. Don’t get me wrong, you really know your stuff, and I… This thing’s really helped me, no way around it. I just feel like we’re not gonna get much further from this point. I’ve got my life somewhat back in order, got a home and a small tourist business in the works, and my brother’s talking to me again – big improvement, that one… Things are good. I’m in a good place, I just need some time to get that through my skull. And I think that’s something I gotta do on my own.”

“So what you’re saying is you want to hold onto a sense of normality for now.”

“Yeah, well… Not exactly.” He held a pause. “Ever since I ran away from home, all I ever wanted was for things to go back to normal. But after… what happened to me, with all the gnarly details…” Stan leant his forehead on his palm and looked away. “There’s no normal for me after all that. Nothing’s ever gonna be normal again, that’s been taken away from me for good. So I gotta settle for what I can get.”

Harker smiled. “Stan, you live in Gravity Falls now”, she pointed out. “Surely you’ve seen enough to notice that everything is far from normal in this neck of the woods. I’d say you fit right in.”

Stan answered her smile, but shook his head either way. “Nah, that’s different. So there’s a couple of weird man-horses in the forest or a cow has odd circles on it, big whoop. Sure, the folks here are a little funked up, too, but… not like this. Not like me. And I don’t really care about fitting in, anyway, as long as someone brings in the coin and keeps my business running.”

“This isn’t about the money, is it?” the doctor asked, tilting her head.

“Nah”, Stan swished her off. It wasn’t very convincing even to his own ears. He sighed. “Ugh, look… My brother is in a tight spot right now, financially, with whatever he’s doing in his murky basement lab. He didn’t want me to find out, but I smell money trouble from miles away. So let’s just say I’m not doing this for the money, but a little extra cash wouldn’t hurt the household.”

“I see”, said Harker with a slightly concerned frown. “Well, I can’t force you to come here on a weekly basis. We could always make our sessions bi-monthly instead. How does that sound?”

Stan scratched his neck awkwardly. “No offense, but I really think I need a longer break from all this.”

“Like I said, I can’t force you to continue. The choice is up to you, Stan.”

Stan nodded, smiling gratefully. “And I’m gonna return if things get worse, no question there. I know by now that Ford needs me to stay in my right mind more than he needs the money. Still, I really need to help my brother out here. I know I don’t owe him nothing, but… It’s the man thing to do, you know? Yeah… I wanna feel like a man again, even if it’s just one small thing.”

“I can get behind that”, said Dr. Harker in a rather warm tone. “Perhaps you’re right – maybe you do need some time off your most painful memories. A change of mental scenery, so to say.” She glanced at Stan. “Just so we’re clear… Are you sure about this? You weren’t just testing the waters, right?”

Stan gave her another nod. “Yeah, I’m sure. It’s like you said… Those memories have stopped coming back to me, so I gotta stop going back to them.” He smiled in a way he hoped was encouraging. “I just wanna forget, go on with my life, y’know?”

“I know.”

“So what about the whole, uh…money biz?”

“Well”, the doctor answered, “I’ll charge for my hours, of course, but I think some kind of a deposit return can be arranged, if you’re willing to give me a few weeks. I’ll have to make some calculations to figure out the numbers. I’m quite sure it doesn’t contradict our policy at the very least, since this isn’t something we normally do.”

“Phew. Thanks, Doc”, Stan huffed with a smile. “That really helps us out. Like I said, I’m not quitting because of the money… but to be real with you here, the only thing that could make this whole deal worse is if it screwed over the only person who's ever given a shit about me.”

“ _I_ give a shit about you, too – pardon my French – professionally and otherwise”, Harker assured him. “I might be just paid services as you said, but I’m not made of stone. Being able to witness your recovery has been a reward in itself.”

“Yeah? Well, uh…” Stan laughed awkwardly. Sincerity wasn’t his strongest side, not in giving nor receiving. “Any chance for a full refund, then? Heh, kidding, kidding. But jokes aside, I, uh… I owe you a drink. A lifetime of drinks, actually.”

“Oh, I think you’ve bought me plenty of drinks already”, Dr. Harker noted. “Deposit return or not, this past year hasn’t been easy on your wallet.”

“My brother’s wallet, if we’re being technical here.”

The therapist gave him a sly, knowing smile. “Well, it’s not like you’ve ever had much honest earnings in your pockets, anyway.”

Stan laughed. “Touché.”

He stood up; stretching this out would only make it more uncomfortable. “Well”, he said, “it’s been a good run. Thanks, Doc… or, uh, I guess it’s Jolene now, since I’m not your patient anymore.”

“Take care, Stan”, said Harker, reaching out for a farewell handshake, “and keep in touch, all right? I’ll be expecting a call from you in a month or two, even if it wasn’t anything urgent.”

“Yeah”, said Stan, “Sure. I’ll, uh, give you a call some time.” He knew he probably wouldn’t. She wouldn’t be the first woman he’d left hanging.

They shook hands; Harker gave him one last serious look. “Try not to forget too much, okay?” she advised. “I don’t want to play the role of Cassandra, but what goes around might as well come around.”

“Rico’s dead”, Stan replied bluntly. “Nothing’s coming around. It’s over. And it’s time I got over it too.”

The doctor placed her other hand on Stan’s. “I wish you all the best with that, Stan Pines.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Stan never forgot.

Every day of his life for over thirty years, something kept him aware of who – or _what_ , as he found himself thinking in his darkest moments despite having promised Ford not to – he had been in the past. It hung like a shadow over his name, or an awkward flicker of his salesman’s grin, that one fleeting second when he was sure every tourist in the Shack knew he was hiding something. Well, of course he was; he’d never paid his taxes in his whole life, and his whole business was more or less a scam to begin with.

His now late father, when angered enough, would often say he’d been born with the face of a swindler. That had stuck – for a better part of his life, he’d accepted getting suspicious looks as a part of the deal of being Stan Pines. But not anymore.

Maybe he didn’t owe anyone anything as Ford had said, but he still felt like the life he led was just an excuse, or an apology. Like he was something this town had never asked for, and he had to make up for barging in uninvited.

Even so, he found himself having settled in Gravity Falls for good, hoping to find a purpose in his new home even when Ford no longer needed his financial support.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

He had momentary lapses every once in a few months. That much he had expected. It seemed like Harker had been right – what went around did come around after all, at least in his head. But when you spend every day of your life trying not to think about something, goes without saying it catches you a little off guard when that something suddenly reminds you of itself. It was only natural, and nothing he couldn’t handle.

He knew he could handle this.

Over time, the months between his moments of weakness turned into years… and years into decades.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

When the kids came around, he had his first major breakdown.

The timing couldn’t have been worse, and it left Stan furious at himself. It had been over thirty damn years! Why now? There was nothing that should’ve brought it back to the surface. The kids suspected nothing. Compared to their other grunkle, the gloomy, secretive shut-in who spent most of his time in his laboratory, Stan looked like the epitome of childlike innocence. To Dipper and Mabel, Grunkle Stan was just a ragged old con man with a big heart and a bigger gut that stuck out more than it should have. And to Stan himself, it was the first role where he could actually live his life without the burden of his past.

But from that moment on, the kids had questions. Ford had forbidden them to ask them out loud, but Stan could see them in their eyes. He agreed with Ford; he’d rather pretend the whole thing never happened.

That any of it had ever happened.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Maybe that’s why he didn’t recognize the man in the yard that day.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It had been a quiet afternoon, so Stan had closed the shop early. The busloads of tourists were nowhere to be seen; so the sight of a lone aged man with foreign looks standing in the yard didn’t fit the usual picture Stan had gotten so used to seeing when stepping out of the Mystery Shack’s door. It didn’t fit the picture at all.

Stan frowned. “Hey, Beanpole, we’re closed. Come back tomorrow.”

…was what he was going to say, but not a single word came out of his mouth.

He already knew this guy was no tourist.

There was something off with the stranger. Maybe it was his oddly crouched posture. Or his freakishly long arms. Something was off. Stan didn’t know him, but somehow he knew trying to talk to him wasn’t even worth a shot.

The man turned around and faced him… Jesus, the eyes. It was the eyes that were off. And everything else. _Everything_ else. This man shouldn’t be here. He had no business being here.

Stan was one hundred percent sure he didn’t know the guy.

Why was he just standing there?

…why the hell did he ask? He didn’t want him to come any closer.

And, of course, now he decides to approach.

Oh, fuck, no. He looked even less human up close.

How do you tell someone like that to back off?

You don’t. It’s no use.

Stan’s pulse was racing, but everything else was slowing down. He should back off himself. No, that was no use, either. Fighting Rico was one thing, but with this guy… And Rico was dead, so there was no one to –

No one to –

A horrible ripping sound lashed through the air, but it hardly reached his ears through the fog.

…huh?

_Who the hell was he?_

He had no idea.

_Stanley! Answer me!_

Stan blinked.

His brain didn’t register the sudden change of scene before him, so he took it the words were just his own thoughts, just unusually loud ones.

Then it all crashed in: the man who had been striding towards him seconds ago was lying on the ground – dead as a dodo, evidently, what with the fist-sized but unbelievably clean shotwound right in the middle of his chest.

His breath hitched, Stan turned around to see his twin brother standing on the porch with a smoking laser gun in his hands.

“F…”

Ford lowered the weapon as soon as their gazes met. The look on his face was cold as ice, but his knuckles were white and his eyes burning.

“Who was he?” he asked again. “He did not hurt you, did he? I interfered in time, right? Stanley?”

“Jesus”, Stan said quietly, his stare glued to the gun. “Is… is that one of your…”

“Please, Stanley. You must tell me who this man was.” Ford’s voice was harsh. “How is this possible? None of his men should have been able to come after you. I have made it virtually impossible. Who is he? How could’ve he possibly escaped my radar?”

“Jesus, Ford”, Stan muttered again, suddenly finding himself out of breath. “Take it easy, okay? I don’t… I don’t know, all right? I don’t know what the hell… is going on here.”

“Wait.” Ford stepped towards him. “Your side. What is wrong with your side?”

“What?” Stan followed his brother’s eyes to his shaking hand that he’d pressed against his side without noticing. “My… my side?”

“Does it hurt?” Ford asked, his voice low and steely.

“…Yeah.” Stan let out a shaky breath and gritted his teeth as he suddenly became aware of the phantom pain gnawing at his ribs. “Yeah. Real bad.”

“But how…” Ford muttered. “There was no way he could’ve… from that distance…”

Then his expression froze.

Without saying another word, he walked to the dead man and shoved the gun to his face, forcing his jaw open with the barrel.

“Jesus”, said Stan again.

He had to support himself on the handrail at the sight of mechanically sharpened teeth he knew horrifyingly well. There was only so much his mind could block out at the raw sight of what he’d forced himself to forget decades ago.

“It’s that _fucking monster_ ”, he muttered.

Then he shouted out loud and stumbled several steps back as Ford pulled the trigger again. This time, he could hear the gunshot loud and clear.

A stunned silence settled in the yard.

“Jesus, Mary and Moses!” Stan screamed for the third time, barely able to keep on his legs. “ _What the f-fuck?_ Ford! What the _fuck_ did you –“

“ _I thought it was a dog bite!_ ”

Stan fell quiet and watched cluelessly as his brother collapsed on his knees.

“Dog… bite?” he asked in a quiet voice. He had a hunch of what Ford meant.

“I thought it was a dog bite”, Ford repeated, his voice strained with terror and distress. “I thought… that you’d tried to escape, and… a dog guarding the house had… or a stray dog, as long as it was an animal! I, I never thought someone, a human could… Why didn’t you tell me? I – I could’ve – _this man didn_ _’t deserve to live after_ _– what he did!_ ”

“Well, he’s dead now”, Stan managed to say after a while. “I mean… really dead. He was already dead, and you shot him in the face. You shot a corpse in the face. He’s got no face, Ford. His face isn’t there anymore. It’s just gone. See? It’s gone.”

“At least… now you don’t have to see it”, Ford answered, his voice barely audible. “Ever again.”

“Well, yeah, but there’s a dead body in our yard”, Stan stammered. He was starting to freak out. “The kids, Stanford. The kids can be back any minute. And there’s a dead fucking body in the yard. Jesus Christ.”

“Do not worry”, said Ford in a quiet voice. “Before they left, I asked Dipper to investigate something for my current research. They won’t be back until several hours from now.”

“But the dead body, Sixer”, Stan insisted. “What are we gonna do about this dead fuckface in the yard?”

“We throw him into the Bottomless Pit.”

“Oh, sure, of course”, Stan threw back, unsure if he was being sarcastic or relieved. “The Bottomless Pit. Yeah. Perfect for getting rid of dead bodies.”

“Get a large garbage bag from inside the house, will you? I’ll keep watch.”

“Just don’t shoot him for the third time, okay?” Stan said with a nervous laugh. That was all he could come up with; his mind was all jazz and no jive.

“I promise I won’t do anything unnecessary”, Ford nodded dully. “Now, hurry. The gunshots were muffled, but you never know when someone is going to wander in.”

“You said it”, Stan grunted as he stumbled through the doorway, his legs still numb from shock and disbelief.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

If anyone had asked later – and no one ever would – Stan wouldn’t been able to tell how exactly they made it to the Bottomless Pit without being seen. He wasn’t fully there as they made their way through the woods. Ford was in the lead; neither of them spoke a word.

Before he even knew it, it was done. And as soon as it was, his mind felt clearer than in weeks.

“Hah. Out of all the trash I’ve thrown into this hole…”

Stan stared bleakly where he’d seen the last shimmer of the black plastic bag before it disappeared into the impenetrable darkness. He wasn’t sure if he would’ve preferred to hear a ‘thump’ or not. Sometimes the Bottomless Pit spat out what had been thrown into it with a few hours’ delay, but according to Ford’s calculations, the magnetic pull of Gravity Falls would repel a stranger’s dead body instead of pulling it back up. They had nothing to worry about.

“Guess it’s really over now”, Stan muttered. He felt weird, almost thrilled; but he didn’t know a proper way to express it.

“It’s over”, Ford confirmed. “Although…” His expression gained an even darker shade, if possible. “All these years, I’ve been under the false impression that it had all ended long ago. You should’ve told me about this man, Stanley. Just his name would’ve been enough.”

“Javier”, Stan uttered quietly. “That’s what they called him, at least. Who knows if a ghoul like that even has a real name.”

“Did you really not remember him at all?”

“Nah. Not until I saw his stupid mobster teeth.”

“But… how is that possible?” Ford tried weakly. “And be that as it may, his harmful intent was clear when he approached you. Why didn’t you run away or call for help?”

Stan shrugged.

“Stanley, I can see there is something you’re not telling me.”

“Well, ya see…” Stan heaved a sigh. “Back whenever… McGucket had this weird gun…”

“Ah… yes, I know of the weapon.” Ford’s hands clenched into fists. “It all makes sense now. Did he offer to use it on you?”

“Nah, I used it on myself. Just had to forget this one thing. Looks like you don’t have to use it on a daily basis to get your head all messed up, heh.”

“It does damage one’s condition, as demonstrated by McGucket himself”, Ford admitted. “It appears to render the brain incapable of processing something forgotten even as you’re facing that forgotten thing.”

“Yeah.”

Ford patted his shoulder gently. “Come now, I doubt remaining here does either of us any good. Let us head back to the Shack.”

“Yeah… Gimme a few more minutes.”

“What is it?”

“Well, it’s just…” Stan scratched his head. “Why was he here? It’s been forever. Why now?”

“I suppose we’ll never know.”

“See, that’s the most fucked up thing about him. You never know. Not what he’s thinking, or not what he’s planning to do to ya. Though I gotta say…” He snorted. ”Just now, we both saw, you know…”

“Stanley.”

“… _right through him_ , am I right?” Stan quipped, slapping his brother’s back as he let out an ugly laughter that scared a flock of birds from a bush nearby.

“Stanley, please. That isn’t funny.”

“Are you kidding? That was comedy gold! Aw, come on”, said Stan. “Just let me have this. Nothing wrong with a little gallows humor, right? It’s how I cope. And you shot a man twice today, so you’re not one to talk.”

“I suppose you’re right.” With yet another sigh, Ford gestured towards the edge of the forest. “Now, is that all?”

It wasn’t.

“Now that I know what he… I am quite sure nothing fazes me at this point”, said Ford, his voice thick. “Whatever it is that’s on your mind, you can tell me.”

“Yeah.” Stan saw no reason not to. “I was thinking… This guy probably saved my life.”

That certainly wasn’t what Ford had expected. “What… do you mean?”

“Yeah, well… Back when I was about to take a hike from Rico’s house, I actually… thought about staying. Thought I wouldn’t make it out there. But then I remembered… What I’m saying is, if it hadn’t been for this guy… You know, at that point, things weren’t so bad with Rico anymore. I think he, uh… never mind. Well, shit. Fuck.” He drew a deep breath. “I think he loved me. There, I said it. And he would’ve killed me at some point, too, because he was fucking sick in the head that way.”

Ford remained silent.

“Anyway, what I mean is… If it wasn’t for this guy and, and what he did, and could still do if I stayed… If it hadn’t been for him, I would’ve stayed. No question there. I didn’t know any better back then. Didn’t think I was worth anything more than… that.” Stan cleared his throat in a miserable attempt to lighten the mood. “So, uh, guess the dickwad I really owed was the one we just shot in the face and threw down this hole, huh?”

Still no answer.

Stan stared into the Bottomless Pit for a good while. “Well, at least now you know the worst part”, he then said quietly before turning away. “Guess that’s it, then. Come on, bro, let’s go home.”

But his twin stood frozen still, eyes dark and averted.

“Ford?”

The silence continued for a long while before Ford finally spoke up. “Perhaps… it is you who’s yet to know the worst of it.” He reached for his breast pocket and pulled out something that made blood drain from Stan’s face.

It had been over thirty years, but he’d taken that ring to the face enough times to recognize it in an instant.

Guess they weren’t heading home after all.

“It is time I told you”, said Ford slowly, “about the circumstances that led to Don Federico’s death.”

**Author's Note:**

> (Psst! I'm actually looking for a co-author, idea bouncer, beta reader, or anything between for the Ford's POV parts, so if you're interested, don't hesitate to hit me up!)


End file.
